Turn The Page Or Close The Book
by siriusblue
Summary: John Watson and Greg Lestrade are friends with benefits. They decide to take it further but the events of the Reichenbach fall will either pull them closer or tear them asunder.
1. Chapter 1

TURN THE PAGE OR CLOSE THE BOOK.

Spoilers: The Hounds of Baskerville, The Reichenbach Fall.

A/N This is a sequel of sorts to The Road to Damascus. It helps if you've read it, but it's not vital. I absolutely love these two together, they make my very old, very tarnished heart happy. And I swore I'd never do another chaptered fic again…*sigh*

CHAPTER ONE

It would take some time to process exactly what had happened to them that night but, for now, John, Sherlock and Greg shared a meal in the Cross Keys dining room washed down with several glasses of the house plonk.

John usually liked to talk about their cases afterwards so they were set in his mind, all ready to be transferred to his blog. He kept getting distracted by the image of a man being torn apart by a land mine. He thought he'd seen the last of that when he left Afghanistan.

The other two were equally as quiet. John didn't think Sherlock had forgiven Greg for obeying Mycroft's orders and interfering, the conversation, such as it was consisted of remarks about the excellence of the food and what time they would have to leave to get back to London.

Greg yawned and announced that he was going to bed, bidding the other two goodnight. He left his room key briefly on the table as he picked up his jacket, the number clearly visible.

Sherlock followed him not long afterwards, reminding John not to stay up too late.

John merely smiled and drained the last of his wine, placing the glass on the table. He checked his watch, ten minutes should have been long enough. The pub was emptying and people were settling down for the night.

John went up the stairs as quietly as possible and knocked softly on the door. It opened and he stepped inside as Greg locked it behind him, a broad grin on his face.

"Hello, John."

"God, I've missed you," exclaimed John, throwing his arms around Greg, melting into him as their lips met.

Their kisses grew more passionate and demanding as they undressed each other, John's hands gliding over Greg's tanned skin as it was revealed, guiding him backwards until Greg was sprawled on the bed with John on top of him, so close he could feel Greg's frantic heartbeat.

John itched to explore but Greg wasn't going to let him have it all his own way, deftly pinning john to the bed, warm trailing kisses along his collar bone, the tip of Greg's tongue teasing the scar tissue on John's shoulder making him moan aloud.

"Tell me what you want," whispered Greg, before returning to his ministrations.

Soon John was begging him shamelessly and Greg was more than willing, lost in sensation and the exquisite pleasure of it. His name on Greg's lips like poetry, feeling the heat build in his own belly, welcoming it, crying out his release as it swept through him.

They talked afterwards as they always did. John rested his head on Greg's shoulder, his arm around Greg's waist.

"So, was it a good holiday? You're very brown."

"Lonely, to be honest. Lovely weather and all that but you need someone to share it with."

"I suppose you do."

"Tell you what did happen while I was away though."

"What?" Greg smiled.

"My divorce came through."

"Blimey, that was quick!" exclaimed John.

"Uncontested on the grounds of her adultery. I'm a free man."

"Just as well yours wasn't mentioned," grinned John. Greg pretended to strangle him.

"Technically it was only adultery once. Every other time since with you doesn't count. She and I were separated."

"Technically?"

"Yeah," Greg kissed him. "Technically."

John was growing drowsy and Greg could sense it.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

"Not planning on going anywhere," replied John, nestling closer.

John was woken early next morning by Greg kissing him. He could think of no better alarm clock and responded with enthusiasm. When they made love, it was slow and tender and John relished every second, unsure of when they would get another chance like this and he felt a twinge of sadness and he dressed and slipped quietly out of Greg's room.

In his own room, he showered and changed and rumpled the bedsheets for the look of the thing. It was time to head back to Baker Street.

As they were waiting for the taxi to take them to the railway station, Sherlock leaned in and wrinkled his nose.

"You reek of Lestrade, John."

John went absolutely scarlet but Sherlock went on.

"I'm not sure I approve."

"That's not up to you, Sherlock," said John angrily.

"I suppose not. If whatever you two have keeps you happy."

"I don't know what we have," sighed John. Sherlock looked baffled as he always did when it came to emotions.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"It's complicated."

Greg had beaten them back to Baker Street. He had a new case which made Sherlock smile. Then he asked John if they could have a word.

Downstairs, just behind the front door Greg looked seriously at John and said

"This friends with benefits. It's been brilliant but I wonder if you'd consider, oh, I dunno, taking it up a notch?"

John smiled. "You want to stop sneaking around and tell everyone?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I'm probably too old for you and I'm certainly a workaholic but what we have is great. I want everyone else to know that as well."

"Me too, "smiled John. "I'd be more than happy to be your boyfriend."

Greg's expression was one of utter delight as John put his arms around him.

"Starting now," he whispered and kissed him hard.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

A/N Spoilers and whatnot in Chapter One.

A door slammed with some force making the two men jump.

"What the…" muttered Greg but John could see Mrs Hudson standing there, her arms folded with a face like thunder.

"I'd better go," said Greg. "I'll see you two at the Yard shortly."

"We'll be right behind," promised John and, as Greg left, turned to face his landlady.

"John Watson, how could you?" she hissed.

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked John, genuinely baffled. Surely, she couldn't have been offended by the kiss?

"Cheating on Sherlock. And so bloody blatantly, right outside my front door!"

John sighed. They'd never really managed to convince her that he and Sherlock weren't a couple. She really had the wrong end of the stick this time.

"I've got a good mind to go up there right now and tell him," she said, biting her lip. "I'm disappointed in you, John. Very disappointed."

"Can I get a word in?" he asked. "Come on, come and sit down. We need to talk."

He steered her into her flat and sat her down at the kitchen table, sitting opposite and looking into her eyes so she couldn't doubt his sincerity.

"Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and me…we're not a couple. He's not my boyfriend, he's my best friend and we share a flat. That's it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but…"

"No buts. He's not and never has been or will be my boyfriend. Greg is."

"The inspector? Isn't he a bit old for you?"

"No," said John exasperatedly. He's really not. He's funny and charming and the kindest man I know. He's who I'm sleeping with, Not Sherlock. No one is cheating on anyone."

"I see now. Thank you for clearing that up, dear. I would have made a right clot of myself, wouldn't I?"

"Just so long as you understand. Now, we need to be elsewhere. See you later."

Sherlock was waiting impatiently upstairs.

"what was all that yelling about? Is Mrs Hudson having some kind of fit?"

"She saw me kissing Greg and thought I was cheating on you. I've put her right."

Sherlock looked positively pained.

"Oh, I see. So, you and Lestrade. Hmmm."

"Yes, we're actually dating now." John looked his flatmate in the eye.

"Well, you've been having sex with him since before Christmas so I suppose some sort of recognition of the fact makes sense."

"How did you…? Never mind."

"Many signs, John. And you always smell of his aftershave when you come home."

"Are you going to be okay with this?" John was genuinely concerned. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock had thrown a spanner in the works of his love life.

"I think so. Please, John, don't hurt him. He's far too valuable to me for you to just throw him aside when you're done with him."

"I can assure you I won't be doing that."

"Very well, "concluded Sherlock. "Shall we go?"

Three weeks later John joined Greg at their favourite restaurant in Chinatown. Greg looked very fine that night, dressed in a kingfisher blue shirt and black jeans. John felt very guilty.

"I feel like I've been neglecting you," he confessed as Greg nibbled on a prawn cracker.

"Don't be daft," said Greg softly, squeezing John's hand." I've been really busy and I'm happier knowing that there's someone keeping an eye on Sherlock, especially since Moriarty appears to have vanished."

John shivered. Ever since that man had walked free from the Old Bailey John had been expecting retribution. Sometimes he felt the universe was holding its breath and it was making him edgy and fretful.

"Anyway," Greg continued. "You're here now."

John smiled, linking his fingers with Greg's on the tablecloth, his eyes never leaving Greg's.

"I don't want to be anywhere else," he admitted. Greg gave him a very knowing look and started on another prawn cracker.

John woke early the next morning. He was in Greg's bed but he was alone. He could hear movement downstairs so he stretched out and grinned at the memory of what had happened when they had ended up here after the restaurant, how easily that beautiful blue shirt had slid off Greg's shoulders onto the carpet and how inventive his lover had been in bed that night, so much so that even the memory was getting John turned on all over again.

He found Greg in the kitchen, already dressed for work, and helped himself to coffee.

"I've got to go shortly," said Greg apologetically. "I was just coming up to wake you."

"It's fine, I'll go with you," said John, draining his cup as Greg looked for his car keys.

Greg offered to drop him off but John declined saying that he had stuff he needed to do. Greg kissed him goodbye and drove off as John headed for the Tube station.

Being more or less kidnapped by Mycroft Holmes hadn't featured heavily on John's to-do list that day, but it happened. He listened in horror at what Mycroft was telling him and returned to Baker Street with a heavy heart, bowed down with the knowledge that Moriarty was by no means done with his friend.

Greg and Sally Donovan were already there, much to his surprise.

"There's been a kidnapping…"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A/N Spoilers in Chapter One.

It had been, by any standard, one of the longest, strangest and most painful nights of Greg Lestrade's life.

He didn't think he'd live long enough to complete the paperwork required for an arrest for kidnapping, an escape from custody and, of course, the small matter of the Chief Superintendent nearly getting his lights punched out.

He'd also never live long enough to reconcile the look on John's face when he realised what Greg had come to do.

John had cornered him in Baker Street and told him, in no uncertain terms, that they were finished. How he couldn't be with someone so spineless and that he never wanted to see Greg again.

"Fine," Greg had snarled. "I'm only doing what I've been told to do. "

"That defence didn't work in Nuremberg either," John had sneered.

"Fuck you. The evidence is all there. I hope the two of you will be very happy together. Once he gets out of prison, that is."

Then he had threatened to arrest John as well…

Safe to say, it hadn't been his finest hour.

Greg rubbed his hands over his unshaven face and squinted at the computer screen, sighing heavily as he realised he had pressed the wrong set of buttons again.

"Fuck's sake!" he hissed. Sally Donovan chose that moment to burst in, unannounced, to his office.

"I thought I told you to stay out of my sight," he said, frowning.

It was when Greg saw how pale she was and how she could not speak that he realised something was horribly wrong, rising to his feet as his lips framed the question.

John was his first and only thought when she had falteringly told him the news, his horror compounded by the fact that John had seen his best friend jump to his death.

Greg was halfway to Baker Street before he realised what he was doing, but he didn't stop, parking outside 221B and leaning heavily on the doorbell.

It was answered by a young female PC who did a poor job of hiding her surprise when she saw him.

"Sir?"

"Is Doctor Watson here?" he asked.

"Yes, upstairs. We've just delivered the death message to his landlady."

"Let me in then."

Greg raced up the stairs and crossed the familiar threshold. John was sat in his own chair staring into space. He didn't even look round when Greg spoke his name.

Greg went to him and grasped him by the shoulders. John gave him a look of utter despair, hurt and incomprehension warring in his eyes.

"Greg. What…?"

"I heard what happened. "he said simply. "I'm sorry, John."

John stood up and into Greg's embrace. As Greg's arms closed around him John started to tremble, but still the tears would not come as he spoke into Greg's shoulder.

"My best friend…he's gone…all the things I never said when I had the chance…"

All the time Greg held him, soothing him the way he had had to do for so many other people who had their lives devastated by random acts of violence. Greg had, of necessity, become good at it, offering comfort where there was none to be found, adopting an air of detached professionalism. Here, however, it was just him and John and Greg's tears for the loss of a great man fell unheeded into John's hair as he continued to hold him close.

"What am I going to do now?" whispered John.

Greg wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Whatever you decide, I'll be here for you."

John withdrew to arm's length. If he noticed Greg's wet eyes he made no comment.

"I thought I said I didn't want to see you again?"

"I'm here as your friend, John." Greg replied, stung.

"No. It's all your fault. The whole of Scotland Yard and that fucking journalist, even his own fucking brother! You were all taken in by Moriarty. You all did this. Don't think you'll ever be forgiven."

The accusation was monstrously unfair but Greg knew how many awful things were said in times of grief, so he didn't rise to it. Instead he merely said,

"I never doubted him, John. He was my friend too and I will miss him. If you need me, you know where to find me."

And on that note, he left.

John sat after Greg had left, his thoughts a whirlwind. There would be the funeral to plan, there would be an inquest, there would be a hell of a lot of press speculation, but he was sure that Mycroft would handle everything. Every decision about Sherlock was now out of his hands.

He was alone, back to where he had been all those months ago before the fatal meeting with Mike Stamford. And he had just pushed away his only source of comfort. John's heart and legs bypassed his brain as he left Baker Street and hailed a taxi.

When he returned home that night, all Greg craved was oblivion. After a hot bath, he changed into his pyjamas, opened a bottle of whisky and tried to find something to watch on TV. He was just about to throw the remote out of the window when there was a knock on his door.

"Who the hell's that?" he muttered.

John was there when Greg opened the door and he stepped inside before Greg could say anything.

Greg found himself pinned to the wall, John in his arms, John's mouth hot and demanding on his.

"I need you, "was all John had to say before Greg's brain completely misted over, leading John to his bedroom and screwing him till John came long and hard, Greg bellowing his release seconds later.

It was then that John broke down completely, his grief almost a howl as he clung to Greg, blotting his tears on Greg's chest, scoring him with his nails as he tried to process what he was feeling as Greg stroked his hair and whispered to him softly.

The proprietor of the only internet café in the small Mexican town had become used to seeing the tall, pale man come in to use one of his machines, and today was no different.

For some reason, the man looked like he had finally found what he was looking for. He paid the bill, received a printout of absolute gibberish and the owner had the feeling that he would never see him again.

Back at his flat, Sherlock Holmes automatically decoded the message and smiled to himself.

THE DOCTOR IS IN POLICE CUSTODY. YOUR MOTHER IS STAYING WITH YOUR AUNT. GOOD HUNTING. MH.

John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson were all safe and completely oblivious. Now the hard work could begin.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

A/N Spoilers and whatnot in Chapter One.

For Juliemagg.

Greg expected John to turn up at his place after Sherlock's funeral and he wasn't disappointed. John had been a regular visitor ever since Sherlock's death, as if Greg were an addiction he couldn't shake. They would always end up in bed, as if sex would make the pain go away.

It might have helped but Greg had his suspicions that he was nothing more than a warm body to John, and it hurt. He had long come to terms about his feelings for John, he had hoped John might come to feel the same, but even he could not have factored in such a huge plot twist.

It had been one of those weird, muggy days when they had laid Sherlock to rest, but that was nothing compared to the sultry look in John's eyes when he appeared at Greg's door, just drunk enough to be alluring and Greg couldn't help himself. He could no more resist John Watson than he could resist gravity and, if the truth were told, John wasn't the only one in need of some comfort that night.

Greg was up early the next morning, waiting for John as he came down the stairs. Silently he handed John a cup of coffee.

"Thanks. I should…"

"Disappear again till the next time you feel horny?"

"That wasn't what I was going to say," said John.

"Wasn't it? It was what you were thinking though."

Greg filled up his travel mug with steaming black coffee.

"I'm getting sick of being used, John."

John was momentarily speechless. He'd never seen Greg angry before.

"I've got to go to work now," Greg continued. "Consider this an ultimatum. It's time to turn the page or close the book, John, because I can't go on like this. If you're here when I get back, great, we can take it from there. If not, well, we both know where we stand. It'll be over and done."

"Why are you being like this all of a sudden?" asked John.

"Casual sex isn't enough anymore. The occasional date when you or I can be bothered isn't enough anymore. I'm in love with you, you bloody idiot."

With that, Greg walked out of the kitchen and closed the front door behind him.

"Oh, Greg. I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the closed door.

All that day Greg resisted the urge to check his phone. He was both dreading and anticipating the return home. He'd never been one for dramatic confrontations but he hadn't been able to help himself that morning.

"Nice going, genius," he muttered to himself.

It was later that he planned when he left Scotland Yard and drove home only to find his house in complete darkness.

"Shit," he groaned as he got out of the car, fumbling the keys to his house into his hand. He switched on the downstairs lights as he walked through. The kitchen was spotless, everything in its proper place. Greg sank into one of the chairs and exhaled a huge, watery sigh.

So, his ultimatum hadn't worked. He was alone again. Standing up, he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. There was no point in getting upset, he was, after all, the one who started it. He was just reaching for a much-needed whisky when there was a loud knock at the front door.

"Not now, "he groaned as he opened it.

And there was John. Shamefaced, true, but there, his hands full of takeaway bags.

"What…?" Greg couldn't believe his eyes.

"I got locked out," confessed John. "So, I thought I'd make good use of my time. I've been job hunting and I brought dinner…"

"Come in." said Greg, dazed. "I thought…"

"That I wasn't coming back? No chance. Greg, I owe you an apology. "

"Come in before whatever's in those bags goes stone cold," said Greg.

John followed him into the kitchen and accepted a huge glass of whisky from Greg.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "We didn't get off to the best of starts and so much has happened recently, I feel like I'm living someone else's life, but you were the only constant in my life, you still are. I'm sorry if you felt used, that was never my intention. I think I was just too ashamed to admit that I needed you as much as I did."

He looked at Greg for the first time since coming into the kitchen and was relieved to see a smile on his face. John took Greg's hand in his.

"I just want there to be an us again. Another fresh start so I can appreciate what an amazing man you are. If that's what you want too."

"Get the plates," said Greg, squeezing John's hand, "I'm starving."

SIX MONTHS LATER

John placed his freshly-washed mug in the rack and left it to dry. He checked his watch and realised he'd better get a move on or he'd be late for work. Just before he left, he wrote a message for Greg on the chalkboard in the kitchen.

'CHRISTMAS DRINKS WITH WORK MATES TONIGHT. FOX AND GOOSE FROM 7pm. LOVE, J xx'

One day, John hoped, Greg would read the message he left for him every day, but after all this time he conceded that it was a forlorn hope. Greg was deep undercover and John hadn't heard from or seen him in three weeks. In the house that they shared Greg was everywhere. Understandably for it had been his house. Now it was theirs, from the new bed to the collection of mismatched crockery in the cupboards and, John had to admit, it was the first place he had really felt at home for a very long time.

He and Greg had a life together and John didn't regret a single second of it for he was in love with Greg Lestrade. He'd just found it difficult to say. He had always been a man of action rather than one of passionate declaration. Now Greg was in very real danger, John was under no illusions about that, and John hoped above all else he would have the chance to tell Greg exactly how he felt.

Afternoon surgery seemed to last forever, but it was finally done and John switched off his computer and locked away his prescription pad. He smiled at the photo of Greg on his desk. He had taken it, not long after they had started living together and it had captured Greg's gorgeous smile and his beautiful eyes.

"Where are you?" he murmured. "Promise me you'll come back."

"Talking to yourself, John?" asked a cheery Northern voice from the door. He turned to see Grace, a fellow doctor in the practice, grinning at him.

"Losing my marbles, "he replied with a grin of his own.

"Come on, we're the last to leave. Everyone else will be pissed by the time we get there."

John needed no second bidding, happy to be spending more time with Grace who he liked enormously.

They made it to the pub and joined the rest of their colleagues who were a sociable lot and could drink like sailors on shore leave.

"Greg coming tonight?" asked Grace, passing John a bottle of beer.

"I dunno. I'm not exactly sure where he is." Grace knew Greg was a policeman, but John didn't elaborate and she was bright enough not to ask.

"Okay. I'll keep my fingers crossed he makes it back for Christmas," she said.

She realised she was talking to herself when she looked at John and saw his whole face light up like someone had put a new battery in him. And she saw the reason making its way towards them through the crowd. Tall, silver-haired and smiling. John's Greg. John was on his feet and across the room like Usain Bolt off the starting blocks, throwing himself into Greg's arms and holding him tightly.

"Hello, love," said Greg softly, kissing John on the cheek.

"I missed you so much, "John confessed.

"I missed you more," murmured Greg. "I went home and saw your message, so here I am."

"There's something I need to tell you," said John, still holding tightly to the man he loved. "I love you, Greg."

"I know," smiled Greg. "I am a detective, you know. Ow"

"You git!" exclaimed John, after he punched Greg on the arm.

"Knowing it and hearing it are two different things, John. I'm glad you said it. You know how much I love you."

"Let's go home and you can show me exactly how much you missed me," suggested John. Greg gave him what could only be described as a leer.

"Are you ready for a demonstration like that?" he asked.

"After three weeks?" grinned John. "You're lucky I haven't dragged you into the toilets. Or would you have to charge yourself with lewd behaviour?"

Greg laughed and took John's hand, leading him out of the pub. John gave Grace an apologetic smile but she waved him away with a knowing grin. Lucky sod.

The former Yugoslavia wasn't exactly abundant with cyber-cafes but Sherlock was a resourceful man. He logged on to his encrypted e-mail account and found a message waiting for him. He would delete it soon but, just for now, he let himself smile as he re-read the brief communication.

THEY WERE MARRIED YESTERDAY AND THE FIRST TOAST AT THE RECEPTION WAS TO ABSENT FRIENDS. WHEN IT'S TIME TO RETURN I THINK THEY MAY EVENTUALLY FORGIVE YOU, LITTLE BROTHER.

MH

The End.


End file.
